


the lyre's song

by seb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancient Greece, Dirk is the spirit of the brook behind his house, First Kiss, First Meetings, Jake is the son of Athena, M/M, POV Second Person, Rating May Chance, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: To fill the prompt: dirk is a water nymph [naiad] and Jake is just a pretty demigod dirk fawns over from afar (or real close up to u)Dirk is a naiad, presiding over the stream behind Jake's house. It plays out exactly like you expect it to.(Mind the tags.)





	the lyre's song

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble, and now it's going to have at least 3 chapters. Buckle in, y'all.
> 
> Thanks to the "Strilondes + Friends" server for the prompt and the jam space. Here we go!

It’s silly that you, the spirit of the brook running along the south boundary of Athens, could have your breath taken away so easily by someone at all, let alone a mortal.

You’ve watched him grow. He started as a clumsy thing, sword too heavy for his shoulders as he stumbled out in the yard bordering your brook, awkwardly swinging at Athens’ war general himself with as much strength as he could muster. (It wasn’t a lot.) Athena awarded him anyway, bringing him bread and cheese and wine, and sitting with him under the stars at night. Some days she trained the boy on her own, steadying his hands, straightening his back, repositioning his feet.

He grew stronger, faster, more confident. From boy to young man to grown; he was exceptional at sparring, and just as beautiful. He was protected from entering the army, no matter how much he begged, as Athena could not bear losing her only son. Her only child.

You could most definitely see why. He was skilled, but he was still that young boy underneath: curious, playful, adventurous to dangerous extremes. Athena dragged him back into the house more times than you’ve been able to count. He still wistfully looks over you, into the forest, beyond; but he knows better. He knows the fate of those who wander.

Still, you yearn. He is gorgeous, you think, and maybe, just maybe, if you could reach out, touch him— but these are dangerous thoughts. He is the child of a Goddess, and you are the spirit of a stream. There is no place for you in his story, and his place is a blip in your immortal life. So you watch him grow, and go, and bring young ladies home, and sigh bubbles into the passing water that cloaks you.

Later: Athena throws a celebration in his honor. You aren’t sure what he’s done to deserve it. Probably anything; you’d give him a celebration for anything, too. You can hear nothing but delighted laughter and cheers of his name. Jake.  _Jake_

Later still: he leaves the celebration. He’s flustered. Too much wine, perhaps? He traverses down the slight hill of his yard and down to the brook, near you. Your breath catches in your chest. You feel hollow, alight. Your skin is cold and buzzing with excitement. This is the closest he’s ever been.

He plops down onto the ground with all the grace of a dull dog. He tugs his shoes off, loosens the straps of his tunic, and eases his feet into the brook. Should you stretch out your leg, you’d be touching him. You feel the molten rock beneath the surface pulse through you. You’re so incredibly close.

“Throw a banquet,” he mutters to himself, and— oh, he’s taking off his tunic. The water ripples as you shudder. He fails to notice. “ _It’s for you, Jake,_ ” he says mockingly. It’s not a very good impression of Athena. “ _It’s so you can make allies!_ ” Jake finishes with a snort and shake of the head.

With the body that he has, you’re surprised he’s not a God himself. He resembles the marble statues in the square, the stone ruins that are praised and worshiped daily. Athena was a fool to not let him into the army, you think. She was a fool to not let him be revered. But the scars that would mar his perfect skin… it’s a hard decision to make. You stop thinking about it.

He’s clad only in his loincloth when he inches into the stream. Ah yes, the dark of night makes for the perfect roof of a bath, doesn’t it? He stretches his neck backwards, letting out a groan as the cool water runs over him. Your heart pounds but you’re stone-still. You don’t want to frighten him away, but Gods do you wish you could reach out to him. Speak to him.

He leans down, splashing his face with water, before stretching out sideways. You shuffle a bit, pushing further into the bank of the stream. Somehow— _somehow_  that slight movement catches his eye. He darts a hand out and it lands on your hip. You gasp at the warmth, jerking out of the water.

“Gods,” you gasp out, “oh, Gods, forgive me,” and curl into yourself. Jake only looks on, holding the very sight of you in awe.

“They’re real,” he breathes, and looks at you like you’re a marvel. _You,_  with your waterlogged tunic, sopping wet hair, cold, clammy skin. _Jake_  looks at _you._  “You’re-” he splutters, “ _you're_  real.”

“I’m— sorry,” you stutter out, and freeze. Maybe if you’re still enough, you can dissolve into the water. Maybe you can disappear again, be invisible like you have been all his life. He reaches out to touch you and you flinch, startled. His hand pulls back immediately.

“I don’t mean to frighten,” he says, and uses his hands as leverage on the bank to scoot closer to you. You soften under his gaze, thaw at his warmth. This time, when he reaches out to touch you, it’s welcome. The heat of his hand is enough to burn your freezing skin, but you don’t mind. You sweep closer, bringing a rush of water with you, soaking his torso.

He bursts forth with _some_  kind of noise, horrified, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles up your throat. You cover your mouth with one hand, the other falling to your thigh, where Jake’s hand rests. Nothing can cover your smile adequately. After he gives up his dramatic offended act, he smiles right back.

“Why aren’t you celebrating?” you ask, sliding your fingers over his. You feel as if he’ll burn a hole right through you if you get too close. But what could be closer than this?

Jake vehemently rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t I talking to people who don’t actually wish to speak to me?” he asks in response.

“Why are you talking to me instead?” you counter. He falls silent. His fingers twitch beneath yours.

“I thought you were a story,” he says, reminiscent. “I saw you as a child, and Mother told me not to worry about the spirit of the stream. Said you were friendly, but not to go near. I thought she just didn’t want me to drown.”

“I’m no siren,” you say, disgusted. He laughs.

“Could have fooled me.”

His voice is smooth and thick like fresh olive oil, dripping into your space and onto your skin. The stream has drawn him closer, and you can smell the sweat on his neck. Boldly, he lifts his other hand to rest on your waist. Your tunic is thin and water-worn and does nothing to shield the feel of his skin against yours.

“I’m not,” you assert. “I govern this stream, I don’t _kill_  people.”

“I believe you,” he says, with the utmost certainty and honesty in his voice. It’s been so long since your last interaction with a mortal, with _anyone;_  maybe that’s why your heart flutters.

“Aren’t you a bit—” you gesture vaguely then put a hand on his shoulder. He tilts his head at you, confused. “The wine,” you attempt to clarify. He must be inebriated, his face was bright red when he sought the brook.

“Oh, Gods, no,” he says, grimacing. “I can’t stand the stuff. It’s— the people.” He looks desperate for you to understand, and you wish you could. You don’t converse with anyone; maybe the oceanid of the Sea of Crete in passing, but you’d give anything to be around more of your kind. More of anyone, really.

“So you take a bath?” you question, and it’s your turn to be confused. His cheeks bloom the color of the wine that stains his lips and he absentmindedly rubs at your hip. It’s increasingly distracting.

“Needed the refresher was all,” he excuses himself with, and you let him. He is charming, handsome, powerful; and you are weak.

You bite at your bottom lip and his eyes drop to catch the movement. You chew, slowly, watching his gaze shift with your teeth. Releasing your lip, you lave your tongue over the indent. He blinks and clears his throat, unceremoniously and obviously leaning in closer.

“You’re very alluring to humans,” he says, voice low and gravelly like the carts of the Olympians. “I hope you’re aware.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re no human,” you say, letting your eyes fall shut. Images flit through your mind: Athena, golden and proud, carrying her child to his new home. The boy, taking his first steps in the garden. The young man, hefting flour on his back to aid the slaves in their preparation of his coming-of-age banquet. The warrior, bloody clothes covering perfectly smooth skin as his mother cries out the victory of his sparring match. The human with blood of a God, beneath your hands, in your stream.

He hums, startlingly close. Your heart pounds. You’ve never felt this way before; so vulnerable, so warm. When you open your eyes, his are a breath away, watching you. They’re green as the forest behind you and just as wild. He swallows and his nose nudges against yours.

“May I…” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. Instead, you press your lips to his and feel the sharp intake of breath he takes. Your lips meld together like they were made to do so, like the Fates bound your spirits together to free themselves at last at this very moment. He hums inquiringly and you groan against him, sliding the hand on his shoulder up to his neck. His mouth opens and his tongue, blazing hot, slips between your own parting lips. He moans outwardly at the feel of your cool tongue against his, your thumb against the pulse point on his neck.

Like the seeds that doomed Persephone, the favor that ruined Tithonus, the snake that bit Eurydice, Jake’s kiss is your demise. You drink him in, pulling him closer by his stubbly jaw. He grips your waist like a lifeline, fingers rubbing your waist and thigh. You moan into his mouth, to which he holds tighter, closer, like you’re valuable to him.

“Jake,” you hear, and freeze. Athena’s voice is steady, booming, and deadly.

He pulls away from you begrudgingly, leaving a hand on your thigh as he clears his throat.

“Mother?” he responds, scooting out of the stream.

“Jake, by _Zeus,_ ” she exclaims, exasperated, and places her hands on her hips, unmoving.

He scrambles up, but not before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Dirk,” you say hurriedly. “My name.”

“Dirk,” he repeats, nodding furiously as he gathers his clothes. “I will return. You have my word.”

He scurries up the hill, Athena admonishing him all the way. Upon bringing your hand to your lips, your chest, for the first time in your life, blooms with warmth.

He will return. And you will wait forever for the day he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated. I hope you're as excited for the upcoming chapters as I am. This has been so fun to write and build.


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